He tried to visualize her and her smile that he might experience again that sensation of relief, of lightened spirit.  In a measure he was able to do so.  Her mouth was large, he saw—­no small mouth could have managed that grin.  She was not pretty, but, somehow, attractive.  Her eyes were bully; intelligent, humorous sort of eyes, he decided.

“Bet she’s a darn nice kid,” he concluded, boyishly.  His father would have been shocked at a thought expressed in such words.

“The business has done wonders these last five years,” said Rangar, intruding on Bonbright’s thoughts.  “Five years ago we employed less than a thousand hands; to-day we have more than five thousand on the payroll.  Another few years and we shall have ten thousand.”

“Axles?” asked Bonbright, mechanically.

“Axles,” replied Rangar.

“Father doesn’t approve of them—­but they must be doing considerable for the family bank account.”

Rangar shot a quick glance at the boy, a glance with reproof in it for such a flippancy.  Vaguely he had heard that this young man had done things not expected from a Foote; had, for instance, gone in for athletics at the university.  It was reported he had actually allowed himself to be carried once on the shoulders of a cheering mob of students!  There were other rumors, also, which did not sit well on the Foote tradition.  Rangar wondered if at last a Foote had been born into the family who was not off the old piece of cloth, who might, indeed, prove difficult and disappointing.  The flippancy indicated it.

“Our inventory,” he said, severely, “five years ago, showed a trifle over a million dollars.  To-day these mills would show a valuation of five millions.  The earnings,” he added, “have increased in even greater ratio.”

“Hum,” said Bonbright, his mind already elsewhere.  His thought, unspoken, was, “If we’ve got so blamed much, what’s the use piling it up?”

At noon they had not finished the inspection of the plant; it was well toward five o’clock when they did so, for Rangar did his duty conscientiously.  His explanations were long, careful, technical.  Bonbright set his mind to the task and listened well.  He was even interested, for there were interesting things to see, processes requiring skilled men, machines that had required inventive genius to devise.  He began to be oppressed by the bigness of it.  The plant was huge; it was enormously busy.  The whole world seemed to need axles, preferably Foote axles, and to need them in a hurry.

At last, a trifle dazed, startled by the vastness of the domain to which he was heir apparent, Bonbright returned to the aloof quiet of his historic room.

“I’ve a lot to learn,” he told Rangar.

“It will grow on you. ...  By the way, you will need a secretary.”  (The Footes had secretaries, not stenographers.) “Shall I select one for you?”

“Yes,” said Bonbright, without interest; then he looked up quickly.  “No,” he said, “I’ve selected my own.  You say that girl—­the one who grinned—­is competent?”